


Broken Promises

by breejah



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Break up sex, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 13:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breejah/pseuds/breejah
Summary: Set after THE Day, Bat and Cat say their tentative goodbyes - for now.  Set after the events of Batman #50, what would have been the BatCat Wedding Issue.Rated E for sex, angst, emotional hurt/comfort.





	Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved the push-pull romance of Batman and Catwoman. I was like most, hoping they'd finally be brave enough at DC to shake things up and change canon history forever, but it's not a thing to be. Per current DC Batman writer, Tom King, things might change on that front eventually, but pardon me if I won't hold my breath.
> 
> This fic is inspired by the sheer amount of angst that will haunt these two characters for a while after that event and what might have happened if they met up before Selina skipped town (see Catwoman #1).

" _Those who'll play with cats must expect to be scratched." - Miguel del Cervantes_

* * *

The night was cool with the sweet scent of promised rain on the horizon. Sinking down, draping herself casually across the rooftop of a nearby building, she allowed herself to luxuriate in the normal noises of nighttime Gotham before moving on. She had to leave,  _soon_ , or the pain of the past few days would swallow her whole. Her instincts were still sharp enough to tell her it was time to go. Snapping her whip around the rung of the steel ladder outside the apartment complex she always used when a job went south, Selina agilely swung down and landed on soft feet at the windowsill she hadn't graced the outside of in months.

"Good evening, old friend," she murmured, the claws of her gloves lightly scratching the surface of the glass as she jerked her wrist and loosened the whip, winding it tightly over hand and elbow.

Glancing over her shoulder, she gently tugged the window up and slipped inside, keeping her movements quiet. Too late, she realized the heavy stillness in the air. It meant only one thing - her sanctuary had been compromised. Before she could turn, she felt a presence at her back. It was more of a gut feeling, really, than a physical one. She felt the heat of a gaze on her back, her hips, her legs, her ass. It made her smile, even if the smile was tinged with sadness.

She didn't let her awareness of the intruder show, only sliding the window shut and stretching her back languidly, canting her hips just right - letting out a faint smirk as she heard the shift of leather and kevlar.

"Why?"

His tone was brutal, frigid, remote - all Bat. After all these years, all their bitter banter, from that first time until even now, it turned her on, made her nether regions quiver and melt. She closed her eyes and swallowed before she felt strong enough to face him, keeping her facial expression remote, only her letting her eyes express both her wariness and heated pleasure at seeing him here. Their relationship had never been simple, why had he expected their marriage - or what their marriage would have been, had she showed yesterday - to be? They were not a normal couple, having a normal courtship, with a potential normal, humdrum marriage on the horizon. There were no cupids bows at play, no gushing parents and grandparents, no confetti or rice or miscalculated flashbulbs documenting their happiness.

They were fists and claws, justice and survivalism, darkness and roguish tendencies. What kind of bow did one wrap that kind of life with? Certainly not the "and they lived happily-ever-after" type. Not now, perhaps  _not ever._  Still, she never could let him go, just as he couldn't let her go. Their love-hate relationship would kill one of them one day and despite being unnaturally lucky - cats did have nine lives, after all - she never knew which would be first to go.

Despite all that inherent danger, he didn't leave. He was always there, a never ending presence, one she realized until recently she'd begun to count on -  _to take for granted_. And she couldn't leave, couldn't shove him aside, and couldn't change. It angered and scared her, sometimes, at how helpless she was against it. He had dug himself too deep, she'd never  _truly_  be rid of him.

He knew that; she knew that. How was any of this ever simple? Simple wasn't them, wasn't their  _style._

As she watched him, she realized the same held true for him. He seemed to be waging an internal war within himself as he stood there, staring at her, exuding icy stoicism. He always lost some measure of control around her, lost some of that inhuman determination she both loved and raged against after all these years. She was the chink in his armor and he loved and hated her for it.

He could have kept quiet, taken her by surprise, but he didn't. He was certainly calculating enough - this was Bruce Wayne,  _The Batman,_  a living legend. By shifting slightly on his feet, he'd let her know he was there, giving her time to prepare to face him.

He wasn't a living legend to her. He was a man - a boy - so broken he could only do one thing determinedly his whole life, to the point of sacrificing every other aspect of it in the process. How would their marriage be any different? And if it worked, and he sacrificed all that he'd done up until then for that happiness - how could she be so selfish, despite wanting to be? He had to know why she left,  _he had to._

"Did you get my letter?" She murmured as she set aside her whip, tugging her night goggles and cap loose, ruffling her gloved fingers through her short silken locks. He said nothing, simply staring, and she turned, tugging loose the gloves and casting them aside as well. "I explained it in the letter."

Again, he said nothing, simply standing there. She frowned, tipping her head back at him, then turned, her naked hands and natural nails catching the zipper of her sleek leather catsuit. He didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't react in the slightest fashion as she suddenly jerked it downwards, wriggling her shoulders out of the soft supple leather, staring at him as it dropped to the floor with a thud.

Her eyes lowered as she kicked one boot off, then another, clad only in her lacy undergarments. Again, he simply stood there, his eyes never changing - staring back at her with incalculable depth. She sighed, then trailed her fingers along the straps of her bra, moving past him. "I'm tired, Bruce. I need a shower. Go home."

"It could have been  _our_  home," he rasped, just as she passed him, making her steps falter. She shivered, then cast off her bra when her fingers found the snaps, glancing at him over her shoulder as she reached for the fridge, opening the door and leaning down, peering over the contents. The milk she kept had long since spoiled and she shoved the carton aside, reaching for a bottle of Evian.

She stood up, keeping the fridge door open as she twisted the cap off the bottle and drank thirstily, tilting her head back, her silhouette casting across the dim, darkened apartment. She knew he watched, feeling his eyes caress every curve like a brand, straying on her breasts that she knew peaked from the chill pouring from the open fridge.

Licking her lips, she paused, canting her head to the side but not looking at him. "Aren't you going to touch me, Bruce?That's why you're staring, right? And haven't left? Don't you want to fuck me, on what would have been our Honeymoon?"

She both enjoyed teasing him, keeping her tone slightly mocking, and hated herself for it all at once. Just as the words came out of her mouth, they turned to ash. Only if he moved towards her would they turn into something sweet, not bitter.  _Please touch me. Just once, just to say goodbye._

Strong hands gripped her hips, gently squeezing, and she suppressed the small yelp that wanted to tear from her throat. He'd moved so quietly, she hadn't heard it, too lost in her thoughts. He bent down, his mouth finding her pulse in her neck, tongue gently stroking the skin above the tell-tale throb at the base of her neck that betrayed her outward calm against her inner struggle - she hissed faintly, angry at his quiet taunt that he knew better, recognized her lie for what it was, but before she could pull away, he bit down with his teeth.

She moaned then, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, as his gloves fell from his hands as he tugged them loose, the warmth of fleshy fingers trailing over her thighs, urging her legs slightly apart, only to pause and then grasp the lacy slip of a thong and  _rip._

She opened her mouth to admonish him, but two thick fingers quickly shoved up inside her - slowly pumping, curling, finding that special spot just inside her - and she was quivering, the soft retort long forgotten. His calloused thumb circled her clit, lightly grazing, enough to set her senses aflame but not enough to send her needs to satisfying heights. It didn't matter, this wasn't what she  _really_  wanted from him and he knew it.

Slowly, agonizingly, he thrust his fingers inside her, drawing out her honeyed response, coating his fingers, his thumb, smearing the apex of her thighs. She mewled softly in the back of her throat, canting her hips just right to feel the hard ridge of his arousal.

 _That's it. That's what I want. Now fuck me,_ her thoughts screamed at him as she moaned again,  _fuck me so hard I'll never forget what it's like. Never ever._

She heard his utility belt thud to the floor as his fingers curled inside her, pumping faster, drawing her in slow inches towards the edge. She sagged forward, the fridge door closing, her hands falling to the kitchen counter, and then she felt him cant her hips as his fingers pulled from her sex, his hands leaving wet finger trails along her spine from his earlier teasing.

One moment, she was left standing utterly alone, defenseless, spread - and then the next moment, she purred as she felt the blunt head of his cock press forward, find what it sought, then shove home in one swift thrust, all the way to the root. It was a rough entry, blunted only by her dripping eagerness, the noise a brisk, wet sound and the shift of kevlar and leather.

" _God, yes_ ," she whispered, hearing his faint grunt and she moaned again, always startled at that initial penetration. He was large, thick, filling her in a way that satisfied her completely.

"Fuck me like you hate me," she whispered, knowing he did. He hated her as much as he loved her in that moment, hated and loved her as much as she hated and loved herself. He did just as she asked, pounding hard, his grip tight, almost painful.

Almost instantly, that forceful rutting, the hard ridge of his glans rubbing roughly across that special place inside her just right, had her climaxing in hard, bone melting intensity. He kept thrusting, holding her in place, all but telling her he wasn't done - he was far from done - and she'd be  _his_ until he was ready to finish.

She let him do whatever he liked. He took her from behind, shoving her torso across the counter, spreading her knees wider, hands gripping her hips to shove her back just as he pounded forward. He pulled from her, turning her roughly as he knocked items off the counter, idly listening to them shatter as they hit the floor while he spread her legs and thrust inside again, that mask and shield of kevlar covering his chest all that she could see, despite the warmth of his cock driving into her with punishing strokes. She came again, staring into that mask, and he groaned faintly - the noise almost unheard it was so soft - and then he pulled from her and pulled her roughly to the floor, where he loomed over her and fucked her even harder.

His cock thickened, began to throb in tune with his ragged pants, and she knew he was close. She splayed herself, breasts thrust up in supplication, and squeezed as tightly as she could around him.

_I will never be rid of you - just as you will never be rid of me. Come inside me with all the hatred and love you hold for me, and I will hold you inside me while you rage._

" _Yes_ , give it to me," she purred, feeling his thrusts beginning to lose their coordination. He was close, too constantly in control to ever really lose control, but his lips thinned, a flash of teeth showed, another small grunt escaped him, and she felt him swell and grind down as he always did before he allowed himself to give in. He always seemed to enjoy punishing himself, holding himself off from climax for as long as possible, always denying himself - then he'd inevitably lose and shove forward so hard, her hips slightly ached from the action, and when he was in the deepest he could go, she felt it.

Hard, stiff pulses spasmed inside her and she moaned, clenching tight, enjoying each bloom of warmth that accompanied the soft kick of his cock inside her, telling her he was spurting. He sagged against her, roughly taking her mouth, almost punishing her with his forceful kisses. His hands threaded through her hair as he tipped her head towards his, both achingly tender and harsh in their brutality. She felt no pain, not her own, only  _his._

Eventually, he withdrew from her, standing and staring at her as he tucked himself into his uniform, snapping his gloves and belt into place.

Saying nothing, he moved towards the window, opening it and leaving the same way she had entered. No sweet goodbyes, no harsh castoffs, nothing but endless night as his departure.

She sighed, casting a hand over her face, torn between a trembling smile and a sob. Tomorrow, she'd leave. He would return if she didn't, to punish her, to love her, to punish himself, to hate himself. She couldn't do it, continue this odd thing between them, not right now.

Wiping at the tears that wanted to spill past her lips, she cupped her sex, holding the last bit of him in place. She didn't want to move, to wash, to remove that small part of him from her. She rolled on her side and curled her knees up to her chest, still cupping her sex with a covetous grasp.

Looking out at the night sky, seeing the Bat symbol blazing against the cloudy night sky, she sighed again. "I love you, too. I'm sorry. I hate myself. I love you. Don't give up on me. Goodbye."


End file.
